


starlight, remembered

by LivelyColorfulWorld



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:27:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27519856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LivelyColorfulWorld/pseuds/LivelyColorfulWorld
Summary: It was said the stars told you who you would fall in love with.Jisung fell in love with a star instead.
Relationships: Huang Ren Jun/Park Jisung
Comments: 46
Kudos: 106
Collections: Challenge #3 — soulmates





	starlight, remembered

**Author's Note:**

> hi hello  
> definitely experimented with some tropes i haven't written recently, but i hope you enjoy!

Darkness is an odd type of sorrow. Rather unremarkable, in a sense. Clouded and heavy, as if threatening to swallow the world whole. 

Jisung’s never liked darkness.

It seems to lurk in every corner of the world, washing everything in monotonous shades of black and grey. There’s darkness in the depths of his shared apartment, half-forgotten rooms that are thinly coated with dust. 

The midnight sky should be black, too, spilled ink and forgotten promises. It should be everything Jisung fears, but it’s not.

Because amid the darkness, there are twinkling specks of light, stars that have filled the sky since the beginning of time. No one really knows where they come from, or where they go when they vanish.

The stars are cloaked in myth. Some love to speculate about the stars and try to understand them anyways. Perhaps the futility of it all is what makes them so alluring.

As ancient as the stars are, there’s a story that’s persisted for just as long.

It’s said that the stars string together those who are destined by the universe to share a connection unlike no other. It’s a tale told to quiet young children as they fall asleep at night, lingering promises of _love_ on the tips of their tongues. 

Jisung was one of those children, quick to believe and quick to love. After all, there was always a semblance of truth in myths. He’d promised his mother he’d find someone to love—if he was lucky enough, maybe even his soulmate—who would probably be some nice girl with long dark hair and a bright smile. He told her that he would marry that girl, maybe even have grandchildren like she’s always mentioned wanting. 

Jisung had so many plans, but each time he tripped over his own feet, just a step ahead of the world, a step too much that sent him crashing to the ground.

Yet, for some reason, he never really minded. 

He’s in love _with_ love, a beautiful, dangerous thing. And maybe that’s why he always gazes up at the stars. The stars are always there for him to love, a sparkling reminder. 

-

No two stars are the same, Jisung discovers, as he maps out the sky above him with a single finger. They hide behind clouds and form constellations, a sprightly dance, one Jisung absently wishes he could partake in. 

Do they have names? Constellations have names: Ursa Minor and Vulpecula and Aries, Jisung knows them all by heart. He wishes he knew the names of the stars, so he can talk to them personally. So he can thank them. 

In the sky, there is one star, small and bright, that always draws Jisung’s attention. 

This star has a name. It’s whispered into his ear one night, as Jisung is lying, sprawled-out, on the roof of his apartment building.

_Renjun_

It’s a pretty name, his tongue curling around the syllables as he says it to himself. 

“Hi, Renjun,” he says to the sky, to the world around him, as if the wind will carry the words to the stars.

The star doesn’t reply—of course it doesn’t, what does he expect?—but Jisung is content nonetheless. After that day, he greets the stars every night, always making sure to address Renjun by name. Sometimes he rambles about his day, because even if Renjun doesn’t respond, Jisung feels as though Renjun is listening. Even behind the wisps of clouds in the sky, Renjun shines as bright as ever.

-

His apartment is silent when Jisung returns that evening. It usually is. The sun is setting on the horizon, and Jisung sneaks glances at it as he faces the only window in his dingy room and finishes his homework. The room across from him is empty. It usually is, too. Their apartment is a cemetery for forgotten dreams and broken promises, and Jisung is lying in the middle of it all.

That’s the thing about promises: if they’ve been broken from both sides, then what are they? They can’t be called promises anymore, not when the fragile bond of trust has been shattered beyond repair.

To Jisung, broken promises are just bitter memories. The type you’d rather forget, but are never really able to.

At nightfall, he ventures out onto the roof. Climbs the steps in groups of two, sticks a bent bobby-pin in the lock, swings the door open. 

Renjun’s there like always, smiling down at him. Jisung gives Renjun a little wave, any previous exhaustion melting away. He sits on the asphalt, and begins to talk. It isn’t about anything spectacular—it never really is. He tells Renjun about how he failed his English essay and how his dance troupe’s instructor had gotten engaged to her soulmate. It’s all pointless rambling, but it’s always nice to have someone listen. 

Sometimes, if Jisung pays close enough attention, he can hear Renjun replying. It’s a rather new development, but sometimes, he can hear a soft, melodic voice laughing at Jisung’s half-hearted jokes, and even offering the occasional comment.

It’s surprising the first time it happens, but his mother had always said the stars had souls of their own. That they weren’t much different than a regular human that aimlessly roams the Earth. So Jisung has taken it into stride, and now invites Renjun to respond whenever he sees fit.

As Jisung recounts the story of his instructor’s proposal, he hears Renjun sigh into his ear, “I had a soulmate, once.”

Jisung perks up at that. Renjun has never talked about himself; Jisung isn’t even aware that stars had stories of their own. “What were they like?”

A contemplative hum, almost inaudible. “Lovely. Lonely, too.”

Jisung laughs. “That makes two of us, then. Three, if you count my roommate, Chenle.” 

It’s silent again, and Jisung wonders if he said the wrong thing. In an attempt to continue the conversation, he says, “Do you still love them?”

Renjun doesn’t reply for a long moment, and Jisung contemplates just letting the topic go. Being reminded of something you’ve lost isn’t a pleasant feeling. It’s consuming, harrowing. He’s seen what it looks like. Felt it, too.

“Not anymore, no,” Renjun says, and Jisung chooses not to comment on the wistfulness creeping into his voice. 

“Can you feel love, then?” He asks instead. “Even though you guys, like, create love?”

Renjun’s response is humorous. “I can. We’re not as different as people make us out to be. But I don’t think _creating_ love is the right way to describe it.”

As Jisung considers that, he supposes that Renjun is right. The stars helped him realize he loved boys just as much as he loved girls, but they didn’t create love. They didn’t create love in any sense of the word.

He doesn’t know what would be a better description, though, so he decides to ask, “Then what is?”

A sudden gust makes Jisung shiver, and he wraps his coat more tightly around him. The weather’s been getting colder, and he wonders where Chenle is, now. Chenle had promised to be back tonight. Maybe he’s found what he’s looking for. He knows Chenle hasn’t, but it’s a nice thought to entertain.

He searches the sky for Renjun again, gaze flitting over the constellations lighting up the sky. It isn’t hard. Hundreds of stars twinkle down at him, but no matter how alluringly beautiful they all are, he always knows which one is Renjun.

And finally, he gets a reply: 

“It’s whatever you want it to be.”

-

Chenle and Jisung promised to try, once, to see what the stars had meant when they strung the two of them together. It was dysfunctional and bleak, Jisung always blindly stumbling around to figure out what would prolong the flame that would inevitably flicker out.

It ended with resounding screams that echoed off of the peeling plaster of their apartment walls. It was all in vain, a waste. An unfinished dance, just a step before the final move.

Jisung learned, then, that anguish isn’t always visible, doesn’t always lie on your skin for the world to see.

Sometimes, it sits, bone-deep, simmering and eating away at you whole until all that’s left is a husk; a living, breathing, forgotten promise.

-

Jisung’s seen Renjun once. He has silver hair and his skin shimmers, translucent, just enough to be seen but not tangible enough for Jisung to feel. 

Jisung remembers how his hand passed through Renjun as if he was made of vapor, and how Renjun smiled, gentle as he reached out for Jisung. The attempt was just as fruitless as Jisung’s. Jisung longed to know what Renjun felt like.

“You’re not supposed to see me,” Renjun had whispered.

Jisung’s response had been just as quiet, a breath along the sighing wind. “I know.” A beat of silence. The wind grew louder. 

“I shouldn’t be here.”

“I know.”

Renjun hummed. He looked at Jisung curiously, as if Jisung was a puzzle he couldn’t quite figure out.

“Isn’t there someone else?”

Jisung thought of unfinished journals with messy sketches of the night sky, of dark circles and trembling hands, reaching out only to plaintively grasp at air. Empty desperation. Nothing.

He shook his head. There wasn’t.

“I’m sorry.” Renjun looked away, unable to meet Jisung’s eyes. Between his fingers was a cat’s cradle of opalescent string, and Jisung watched, entranced, as it molded and shifted itself into different shapes. The tips of his fingers were covered with calluses, but they didn’t look like the old, spindly hands he had grown up hearing about. Stars as old as time, weaving threads that were even older. Tangling, untangling, a careful dance of fate, of supposed lovers.

“It’s alright,” Jisung finally said.

The strings vanished as Renjun lowered himself next to Jisung. “I have to go soon.” His gaze was withdrawn, as if recalling the vestiges of a distant memory. His brows crinkled, the barest of frowns on his lips, and Jisung decided that he didn’t like seeing Renjun so upset.

“That’s okay. I’ll be here until then.”

They didn’t talk much, but Renjun stayed until sunrise. By then, his expression had smoothed out, and the wind had died down to a resigned murmur.

-

Chenle doesn’t know Renjun’s name—he shouldn't.

It’s not as if Jisung wouldn’t tell him if he asked, but Chenle wouldn't ever ask, since he never seemed too interested in finding out why Jisung was always up on the roof. Jisung wasn’t sure if Chenle would believe him, anyways, so he kept to himself, relishing in the moments he could share with Renjun. Jisung doesn’t have many secrets, but Renjun is one of them, so well-kept that it’s impossible for Chenle to find out. 

Chenle, on the other hand, is cloaked by secrets. 

Jisung doesn’t know much about Chenle. He knows he’s not the first person Chenle’s been fated with, and he knows he’s not the last. But everything in between? It’s a mystery, shrouded in darkness. No matter how many times he tries to break through the darkness, to add a bit of light, it only snuffs out his pitiful attempts. 

Chenle’s never in their apartment, but it doesn’t feel colder without him. Just as Jisung knows it’s the same for Chenle. 

Sometimes Jisung returns after his classes to see Chenle silently staring up at the night sky. He never asks why, and Chenle never tells him, either.

-

Jisung spends more time on the roof than inside his apartment. He stops going to his apartment to do much other than eat and sleep, and even then, he’s accidentally fallen asleep on the rooftop more than once.

Throughout it all, Renjun’s smiling down on him, whispering in his ear, making the vast world Jisung was thrown into a little less frightening. He’s gentle in everything he does, and sometimes Jisung longs for so much that it hurts.

“Do all the stars have names?” Jisung asks one night as he lets his eyes wander to the Little Dipper constellation in the sky.

“They all did, once,” Renjun says. “Most are too old to remember them, though.”

“Will you forget your name? In a century or two or more?” Jisung frowns at the thought. Renjun’s name is too pretty to be forgotten.

“If I don’t have a reason to remember it, then yes.”

Jisung’s frown deepens. “I hope you have a reason to remember.”

“I hope I do, too. There are a lot of things I would like to remember, just as there are a lot of things I’d rather forget.”

Red-rimmed eyes, bitten fingernails, the slamming of a door with the insistence of “tomorrow, I’ll stop tomorrow.” Times when there’s nothing left to do but offer placating promises that Jisung has no intention of following through with. They’re both guilty of that.

“I think that’s true for everyone.”

“I guess so,” Renjun agrees. 

He’s quiet, but Jisung knows he wants to say more, so he doesn’t speak. 

“Do you ever feel guilty?” Renjun finally asks. “That you don’t love the person you were destined to love?” 

It’s a question that used to weigh heavy on his mind years ago, and Jisung stills as he mulls it over. “I used to. But I’ve thought about it and I don’t think it would’ve worked out even if I did love him. I think it’s easier that I don’t. For him and for myself.”

“You’re kind, Jisung,” Renjun murmurs. “People like you always end up here, with the stars.” Melancholy laces his tone, and Jisung wonders why Renjun became part of the night sky in the first place.

“How do I get there?” _To you_ , Jisung wishes he could add. 

“Life is a strange thing,” Renjun says, almost as if he’s skirting around the question. “It goes beyond your time on Earth, in more ways than one. It continues in different ways depending on who you are. Some people become another spirit up here, with us.” 

“Is that a good thing?” 

“Sometimes.” Renjun sighs. “It’s nice up here. Never too dark, never too quiet. Just gets lonely sometimes.”

“Lonely,” Jisung echoes. The description sounds familiar. “Just like your soulmate?” 

Renjun hums softly in agreement. “And just like you.”

“I wish I could be there with you,” Jisung confesses. “I think being there with you would make it all more bearable.”

“Really?” Renjun’s voice is gentle, thinly veiled with curiosity.

Jisung’s silent. He doesn’t know what to say, scared of saying something that might not be true. He only nods, which feels quite silly because Renjun likely can’t even see him.

“Maybe one day,” Renjun eventually says. And then he falls silent as well. 

-

Jisung isn’t alone on the rooftop. He never is, but now there’s a different presence, flighty and familiar.

They don’t greet each other. They never do, not when Chenle returns for just a day, only to disappear again, searching for a promise already broken, waiting for someone who will never come. 

He supposes they’re similar in that way. Maybe that was why the universe had paired them together, to help heal each other’s wounds. Wounds that only seem to yawn wider with time, aching, tearing them both apart while the other can only watch. 

“I need to,” he tells Chenle. Chenle understands. He always has. His lips are downturned as he studies Jisung.

“There are other ways,” Chenle says finally. His voice is soft, cadences of resignation and forgiveness that dance along the wind. Two souls that never really seemed to dance in time. Stumbling, falling, until all that was left were bruised knees and scraped palms.

“I’ll see you there.” It’s a promise, but he doesn’t need to say as much. He knows he will. Chenle will be there later, when his time comes. 

“See you later, Ji.”

And Jisung finally sees a crack in his expression, breaking, shattering, until all that’s left are the shards of crystalline tears. 

“Tell Renjun I say hi,” Chenle whispers, as if it’s a secret to be lost to the world, forgotten among the stars. “And that I miss him.”

Of all the promises Jisung’s made, this is the only one he knows he can keep.

-

Sometimes, Jisung wonders if maybe his own plans are what made him trip over his own feet. He hadn’t planned to fall in love with a star. He hadn’t planned to fall in love with Renjun.

And yet, for the first time in his life, it feels like he’s in sync with the rest of the world.

-

When Jisung takes Renjun’s hand, it’s softer than he expected. There’s a slight breeze, cool against his cheek. 

Strings wind around his fingers, but they’re forgotten as he cups Renjun’s cheeks, looking into his eyes, searching. 

“I’m sorry,” Renjun says, hushed and wavering, unspoken words hanging heavy over them. 

Jisung shakes his head. “It’s alright. I chose this.” He caresses Renjun’s cheek, marveling at how warm his skin feels under his touch. It’s like Renjun’s human, blood coursing through his veins instead of stardust.

The sky looks different from this perspective. It’s brighter up here, as if the darkness merely fills in the gaps between the stars. Spirits, weaving away at the threads between their fingers, threads that connect millions of people in the world below them. Jisung watches them, and wonders which one is Chenle’s.

“I’m sorry,” Renjun says again, but Jisung knows Renjun isn’t talking to him.

The wind goes silent, and all Jisung can hear is the thudding of Renjun’s heart. He turns to Renjun, and his breath catches in his throat all over again. Renjun’s tangible, living and breathing and everything Jisung’s longed for.

“It’s alright.”

He tucks a strand of hair behind Renjun’s ear. He towers above Renjun, and almost feels like he’s encasing Renjun’s petite frame. Renjun doesn’t seem to mind, instead staring at Jisung with a mix of wonder and incredulity.

“It’s going to be okay,” Jisung eventually says. “I promise.”

And maybe, just maybe, this is a promise he can keep, too.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading<3
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/jisunflwer) & [cc](https://curiouscat.me/jisunflwr)


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